Meg has it written all over her. Though she seemed aware and, truthfully, sort of pissed about it. Which is very interesting. Not in the “I’d like to corrupt that” kind of way. More like in the “I’d like to explore that topic” kind of way, which is more concerning, if I’m honest. I’m spending too much time with James, I think.

I uncross my knee from my ankle. “Anyway, Meg is cool. I didn’t get her number, though, and she’s leaving in a few days. I don’t think I’ll be talking to her again.”

Duke shifts to work in the next display, unlatching and moving around the merch. “Is that regret I’m detecting?”

Since it’s a moot point, I decide on honesty. “Maybe a little. You know me,” I say, trying to impress some significance into the words so I don’t have to actually say anything significant.

Duke nods, solemn, picking up on my tone. “Fucked-up pastor’s kid. Yeah. I know you.”

“Right,” I say shortly. “Well, I sort of got the impression that Meg could relate on some level. Which was … maybe cool.”

“Sort of, some, maybe? Cool?” Duke asks. He drops his pen, placing both hands on the display and leveling me with a look. “That’s huge, Micah. I’ve known you five years, and this is like the third time you’ve mentioned your history. Can you stop by her hotel? Do you know where she’s staying?”

“I don’t know, man. That’s kind of weird. ‘Hey, Meg, I stalked you at your hotel and am crowding on the rest of your vacation so I can dump my five years of church trauma on you, thought you might relate, wanna hang?’”

“Only if you bring Cash along. I think we might have something.”

I choke on air and spin on my stool to find Meg, holding a tray of brownies and wearing a blinding grin, standing next to a bemused Dani. Holy fuck, where did she come from?

“Meg!” Duke shouts, circling the counter and enveloping the tiny girl in his giant-ass gangly limbs. He’s acting like they’ve known each other for decades and she’s been lost at sea … not like they met two days ago.

She holds out the brownies. “I got a job. Next door. Brownies?”

“You’re kidding,” I say weakly.

“Nope. They had a sign up. I walked in and interviewed on the spot. Now I just need to figure out a place to stay and I’m good.”

“You’re moving here?”